


and then the world will tear you open

by Eicas



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: (genji tagged despite brief appearance bc a. have you ever seen a fic with only one character tag?, .....yeah, Fingering, Fisting, Forced Orgasm, Gangbang, Helplessness, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Non-Consensual, Overstimulation, and b. i might continue this w either the comfort part to match all the hurt., hand-waving the circumstances bc come on guys we all know im not doing this for plot, jesse gets into a bad situation and then he gets absolutely wrecked, or just some more hurting but either way there'd be more genji then), stuck in wall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-12
Updated: 2017-05-12
Packaged: 2018-10-31 03:39:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10890924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eicas/pseuds/Eicas
Summary: mind the tags y'allJesse makes a dumb mistake and gets himself helplessly, pitifully stuck. Once Genji's done laughing at his predicament and has left to find help, Jesse figures he's in for an hour or so of painful, uncomfortable boredom.He's proven very, very wrong.(not-so-loosely based on art by kirinlust:  https://eicas.tumblr.com/post/161923343475/kirinlust-0c )





	and then the world will tear you open

**Author's Note:**

> (if you have a better idea for a title _please_ let me know it's 1am but if i leave this in my drafts folder any longer i'll cry ) 
> 
> also, i have absolutely no excuse, but kirin's art was my first encounter with this kink in any way shape or form and _hoooo boy_ , i'm just saying, god daaaamn. 
> 
> also sometimes u just gotta hurt the characters you love. hurt them lovingly. 
> 
> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

Jesse has made a terrible, terrible mistake.

In his defense, it could’ve worked! The hole seemed to be just about human-sized, and he fit his head and shoulders through just fine -- and then, somehow, he got stuck. And now here he is, waist-and up on one side of the wall, legs firmly planted on the other (or, well, not _firmly_ \- the hole is just high up enough that he can’t rest both feet on the ground, only reaching with his toes), sticking out at a ninety degree angle.

“I do believe,” Genji says flatly, voice raised just enough to carry through the wall separating them, “That this is the dumbest thing you’ve ever done.”

“No way,” Jesse protests, wiggling a bit to see if it’d have more effect on the 5th try than on the 4 preceding ones. It does not. “I’ve done _way_ dumber.”

“True,” comes the reply. “...You look ridiculous, my friend.”

“Nah, I look fine as fuck.” To emphasise his point, he wiggles again, this time just to show off his ass. He hears Genji snort, and grins widely. Worth it. “For real though, you sure you can’t pull a little bit harder?”

“Not unless you want me to break the whole wall down,” Genji says critically. “Or your spine.”

The thought of tearing down his temporary prison is awfully tempting, and for a moment he actually considers it, but then he realises how long it'd take for Genji to do so on his own, and how big a chance there'd be they'd end up doing it wrong and getting him buried under rubble instead of getting free. He sighs regretfully, shakes his head even though Genji can’t see him. “Nah, it’ll be fine. You just - go get someone who _can_ help, yeah? Angie or someone.”

“Not Commander Reyes?”

Jesse groans, letting his head hang down as far as it goes. “God, no. Only as a last resort, you hear me? He’ll never let me hear the end of it.”

“Jesse,” Genji says, sounding much too amused. “ _I_ will never let you hear the end of it.”

“Yeah yeah, you’re a terrible friend. Now _go_.”

“I will return shortly,” Genji says, and then he’s gone.

 

* * *

 

 

The first thing Jesse does once he's left alone is to contemplate his own miserable luck, and every bad decision he has made to somehow end up here. It takes him a while - there are a _lot_ of bad decisions - and after that, he sets about counting the bricks on the opposite wall, tapping out a rhythm on his own.

When he reaches 168, someone grabs his ass.

Jesse yelps, more instinct than anything else, flinching away from the touch, and then immediately relaxing again, rolling his eyes. “Ha ha,” he yells. “Very funny, Genji. Now c’mon, gimme a hand.”

Instead of a verbal response, instead of the hand letting go, the touch becomes firmer, confidently squeezing.  “H-hey there-” Jesse starts, and that’s as far as he gets before his belt is unbuckled and his pants unceremoniously tugged down to his knees. The air is cold against his bare skin, but Jesse barely feels it, an entirely different kind of cold setting in, deep under his skin.

The hands return, kneading at his ass. It feels weird, it’s - he tries to squirm away from it, but doesn’t anywhere at all. There’s nowhere to go.

“Genji?” he calls out again, heart freezing over. It’s not him, he wouldn’t take a joke this far, but Jesse has to cling to the small chance it might still be, because the alternative is too horrifying to contemplate. “Alright, that’s _enough_. Help me out of here, buddy.”

The only response he gets is a hard slap, placed squarely on his right buttcheek. It catches him by surprise, breath leaving him in a shocked gasp, and after that it’s really difficult to calm down enough to catch it again. “H-hey!” he yelps, but that only gets him more of the same, harder this time. He jerks forward instinctively, but no, still stuck - all he gets is rough stone scraping against his skin. He tries to kick backwards, get whoever’s there to back off a few steps - but with his arms on the other side of the wall, he’s really no match against anyone.

“The- the fuck are you doing, asshole,” he yells, loud as he can, flailing his legs in an attempt to hit something, anything. “Stop messing around, get _off_ me!”

Someone else’s legs pin his to the wall as a hand shoves itself between them and grabs his flaccid cock in a steady grip. Jesse goes very, very still. _No. God, no. Not this, anything but this._

The hand gives an experimental pump, dry and uncomfortable but Jesse still shudders, can’t help it, not with how long it’s been since he last touched himself. He collects himself, slams his hands against the wall, impact hurting his still-human hand. “I said to _knock it off_ back there! Go _away!_ ”

His voice has taken on a high, almost hysterical quality. He can’t say he’s a fan.

To his great relief (and surprise) the hands actually do let go then, giving him a solid moment to but they soon return, and when they touch him again they are cold and slick with something that has to be lube. _Lube._ A hysterical laughter threatens to bubble out of him. He holds it in, but, lube, they’re carrying _lube_ around with them. This has to be a dream, all of it, strange and surreal but he’ll wake up any moment, he’s sure to.

The person on the other side of the wall spreads his asscheeks wide, dribbling a generous amount of lube over his hole, stroking around it - and then pushing two fingers in, slow and steady. Jesse’s breath catches in his throat.

“No,” he protests weakly, flinching away despite the pain, hands clawing at the wall, because dream or not, he doesn’t want this, doesn’t -  “No, stop, _stop_ ,” and predictably enough, it does _nothing._ No hesitation, no tentativeness, just relentlessly stretching him wider, jabbing deeper than he’s ever managed to reach on his own. Their other hand returns to his cock, and Jesse realises with barely suppressed horror that he’s growing hard under their treatment, that his body can’t help but react.

‘ _S’pose I should be grateful they’re taking the time,’_ some small part of him points out. The rest immediately shut that thought down, burying it under miles of shame. No, no gratitude. He does not have to feel--- Whoever’s back there scissors their fingers wider, and Jesse stifles the low whine trying to claw its way out of his throat. His voice has grown so embarrassingly weak. There are actual tears stinging in his eyes. “ _Stop._ ”

Nobody listens. He’s not even sure they’ve heard. His words have no effect, and he can’t fight - he can at least do his damned well best not to let the bastards get the satisfaction of hearing him hurt.

Soon enough they’re up to three fingers, moving deeper and deeper inside him, and he can’t possibly need any more stretching than this, he _can’t_ . They’re still touching him everywhere else too, and with his limited experience, with how it’s gone from the brutal start to being almost, almost _gentle,_ unrelenting but _considerate,_ it’s, he’s.

He can’t pinpoint when exactly the experience moves from pain to pleasure, but somewhere along the line the noises he’s holding in stop being pained grunts, and start being… something else entirely.

A short while after that he stops being able to hold them in at all.

Humiliating sounds spill out of him, echoing in the empty room. He immediately slaps a hand over his mouth, trying to suppress them that way, but it’s too late, he’s not fast enough to muffle them. There’s no sign any of the people on the other side of the wall has heard, but they’ve given no acknowledgement to _anything_ he’s done so far. No words, no nothing - just the hands on his skin and between his legs and now _inside_ him.

He doesn’t know if not being able to see them makes it better or worse. He doesn’t know how many people there are back there, how many people are seeing him like this, are watching him right now and he has no way to _stop_ them, can’t move enough to make a difference, has no hope of fighting them off.

He’s never felt so _helpless_ before.

Whoever is back there spreads him open again, nudging his legs wider apart, and then their fingers are replaced by their cock and Jesse groans, low in his throat. They push in slowly, and it’s just - it feels like it goes on forever, the leisurely glide into him until their hips are touching his ass, deep as they can go.

They start moving. Slow at first, but deep strokes, pulling almost all the way out before going in again, but then the grip on his hips goes from just holding him there to being bruising and they are pounding into him, every thrust shoving him harder against the wall. He’ll be bleeding after this, he registers distantly, skin scratched raw from being rubbed against the stone.

They’re not touching him anymore, but he’s still _hard,_ some part of him still craving release. He wants them to touch him again. He wants them to _never_ touch him again. He wants this not to be happening, not to be true---

The thrust speed up, grip tightening almost imperceptibly, and they finish, spilling their seed inside him. He freezes up, can’t move - can feel it dripping out of him when they pull out, sliding down his thigh - but it’s _over_ . Oh, thank god. Thank _god._ He slumps against the wall, trying to catch his breath, trying not to think about sexually transmittable diseases or how to explain this to the rest of the team, and _especially_ not thinking about how he’s still painfully hard, how _empty_ he feels now that there is no longer anything inside him…

Someone else steps up to take the freed up space. This one does not hesitate, just drives himself home with one hard stroke, buried balls-deep from the get go. Jesse is not prepared, does not have time to steel himself, can’t stop the scream from ripping from his throat. _No._ The pace this time is brutal, but the strokes go so _deep_ \- they’re hitting something deep inside him, and it feels so god damn good he can barely breathe.

It doesn’t hurt anymore, and that - that is the worst part.

 

* * *

  


He doesn’t know how long it’s been. Can’t tell, has no way of knowing, didn’t have the heart to keep count after the first three, but now there’s a break in the pattern, a pause in the time between one cock leaving him and another one replacing it. He’s come once, orgasm wrung from him with a clever hand and thick cock, milking him dry and then _not stopping,_ fucking him through both orgasm and aftershocks and the over-sensitive period following, and now he’s already hard again, and as much as he tries not to think about it, he _can’t_ go away, can’t turn his brain off and just let it happen. He feels every moment, even in this light-headed daze.  

In moments of clarity he remembers that Genji was with him, Genji was bringing help, Genji will surely return to him because Blackwatch does not leave their men alone in the field, Commander Reyes would never allow it, but in moments of clarity there is also the shame and humiliation, so heavy it knocks the air out of his lungs. The thought of them seeing him like this - it makes him sick.

(The thought of them never seeing him again, of him being left like this forever - that is worse.)

Someone spreads him open again, runs a finger through the mess on his thighs and then pushing that finger inside him, scooping it all back into him. It slips back out again almost instantly, hole already too loose to hold anything in, but he can picture what he must look like right now, put on display, and the mental image is enough to send dark spots dancing before his eyes.

They add another finger, leisurely pumping in and out, and then another, and then - and then another. That’s enough so he can feel it stretching him wider, even now, and he tries to squirm away from it, make another attempt to kick them off, but he can’t find the strength to move at all, legs only twitching weakly. He’s trembling, and this time he can’t suppress the whimper, rising into a wordless whine as they spread their fingers, pulls them together, and, with only a little bit of resistance, squeezes their thumb in next to them.

Jesse can barely breathe.

They wiggle their thumb a little, seeing how much he can yield. Evidently the answer is “enough”, because they push in further, until they’re - their entire hand is inside him, and Jesse has never - he’s never felt so _full_ . He doesn’t think he could move now even if he wasn’t stuck, not with the way they’re - it’s like they’re holding him still _from the inside_. He can feel every movement, every minute twitch of their hand.

Someone grabs his dick and he comes, instantly, barely even having time to register the touch before he goes off, seizing around their fist. His body tenses and he cries out in pain as he clenches, too hard, and then forces himself to relax. _Breathe. Just breathe._

They pat the side of his leg, obvious praise, and he muffles a sob. _Complacent._

_Weak._

They move their hand, twists their fingers, keeps working his cock as if it’s even _possible_ for him to come again today, tonight, this _lifetime._ He twitches, but there’s nowhere else to place his attention, nothing captivating enough that it’ll let him not feel this. There’s only - the fullness inside him, the hand on his hip, warm and anchoring, his cock twitching weakly in their grasp, the feeling like he’s about to split open at any moment, knowing he’s being watched, being _presented._

Jesse shuts his eyes and drifts.

 

* * *

 

There is no stop to it, no pause, no respite to be found. It’s like he’s not even real anymore, no longer in the actual physical world - he feels so surreally isolated. They still haven’t said a word to him, or to each other. Occasionally there is a groan loud enough to make it through the wall, but that’s the only sign whoever’s back there is even _human -_ other than that the only sounds are his own breaths, shallow and quick, and the disgusting sobs he can no longer hold back. He’s so - everything hurts, _everything_ , he’s overstimulated and worn out and so tired he can barely hold himself up anymore, let alone think straight.

He’s come more times than he can count, semen - most of it not his - drying on his skin, and he can’t possibly get it up anymore, he _can’t,_ but there’s no sign of it ever being over. He’s been fucked, jerked off, _fisted_ \- at some point someone brought a buttplug, long  & wide, and it _vibrates_ and it’s _still in him,_ held in place by, he’s not sure but he thinks it’s just rope, rubbing against his too sensitive skin. _Every part of him_ is too sensitive. At some point they removed his pants entirely, and as much as the breeze is hell to feel and he should probably _actually_ be freezing his ass off, he thinks he’s grateful, glad he doesn’t have to know what that fabric would feel like against his skin. There’s drool on his chin, too exhausted to reach up and wipe it away, too near-delirious to properly _care_ anymore. He’s in his body, but he’s _not_ \- everything happens as through a thick layer of cotton, an impenetrable ocean between him and, well, _him._ He’s - floating. Flying. (drowning.)

Blackwatch will come for him. They have been delayed, something has happened, but they will take care of whatever issue there is, and then they will come for him, and then -

and then -

and then he will find out if they still want him, having seen him like this. Then he will find out if he is at all able to claw his way out of the hole he’s been thrown into.

**Author's Note:**

> (i know it's marked as complete - because most likely it _is_ \- but on the off-chance that you want to see more and i end up writing more, it is possible to subscribe even if the fic's marked as complete. pro-tip.  
>  if there's more it'll either be the comfort side of h/c, or some really dark shit about the stuff people will do when they think they'll get away with it. we'll see. (3 days later edit: the latter can be found in the drabbles collection, here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/10796106/chapters/24215397 the former still does not exist sorry sorry) 
> 
> ((also i spent a while before i started writing this debating whether or not i _wanted_ the ocs to talk bc it'd give the whole thing a slightly different vibe - open up some possibilities, close some other - and like there is a very real possibility i'll just go 'fuck it' and ending up writing _that_ version too, because this is my sandbox too and that means i'm allowed to be as self-indulgent as i want to. writing mockery and faux-kindness is _fun_ ))


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